Is This Love?
by Mrs. Leak
Summary: Alyssa Crumrine loves baseball more than life, more than words. But when she's banned from playing in the league, her world comes crashing down. Then somehow, someway, she gets back in, put on a team called the Bears, who can't play ball to save their lives. That's when the beautiful disaster of a plot twist comes in. That plot twist just so happened to be named Kelly Leak.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"What do you mean I can't play?!" I yelled, glaring angrily at the head of the league standing in front of me.

"Well Alyssa, when you broke your leg making that play at home, the other members of the board and I decided that having you continue to play with the boys, as they continue to get bigger and stronger, is a safety hazard."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Safety hazard?! I'm the best pitcher in this damn league!"

"Alyssa! Watch your language, young lady!"

"Well it's true! And you can't tell me what language to use. You can't keep me from playing either! Did you forget about Title Nine?" I felt like such a turkey, crying Title Nine, but playing ball was the only thing I had to live for.

"The decision's already been made. Title Nine can't help you now."

"Bullshit!"

"What did I tell you about language?"

"Look buddy-" I was seriously going to kill him.

"Goodbye Alyssa. I hope you have a quick recovery."

I hobbled out of the room on my crutches, muttering, "I hope you choke on your sympathy."

With honestly nowhere to go, I simply walked out of the office and waited for an idea of how to spend my time, now that baseball was out the window. I mean, it was all I'd ever known. Playing ball was the only thing I thought about, only thing I did when I wasn't at school or doing homework. There were even several occasions when I'd sneak out to play in the front yard when my parents thought I was asleep. It was my life.

_I guess my life is over then._ I thought, and it was enough to push me over the edge. One tear leaked down my face, followed by another, and another. Soon I was in hysterics, and the only things I could hear were my sobs and my pulse pounding in my head. This wasn't fair, plain and simple. I had fought for years, five years to be exact, to get into that league; I'd lost so much sleep over it. Baseball was my escape, my way to forget about the troubles of life and just be happy for six blissful innings. But not anymore. Not ever again.

Now, just to set the record straight, I am not a cryer. The last time I cried was a year before when my cat had died. But now, now I was thirteen and I made it my sole effort in life to be the best ball player, and to hide my emotions as much as possible.

"Oh God," I laughed at myself, "I'm a mess! Watch, next I'll be going through withdrawls." My laughter stopped as I realized I was approaching the ball field, my second home. Or maybe even my first, seeing as I was hardly ever at my own home. I walked - or limped awkwardly, still not used to my crutches - over to the plate. I spotted a ball, dusty and abandoned, lying by the backstop. It was old and worn, but I picked it up anyway. I just wanted to play the game I loved. Why did I have to be a girl? Or, rather, why couldn't they get their heads out of their asses and accept girls? I mean, I could play, right? In that instant, sadness turned to anger and I hurled the ball in disgust. My "golden arm", as my coach from the past season had called it, proved true, and it sailed into the scoreboard, all the way from home. I winced as my broken leg hit the ground from my follow through.

"You can throw."

I turned at the voice, shocked when I saw who had complimented me. I knew who he was, of course, everyone in town did, and most people I know would be afraid. But, being Alyssa, I was more entranced than scared. I'd seen him a lot around the field before, chasing women way too old for him and making bets, but I wasn't expecting to see him here, with nobody but me around. I looked right in his eyes, right into the eyes of local loan shark and juvenile delinquent, Kelly Leak. He sat casually on his Harley, waiting for my response.

"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter now." I replied bitterly, walking away as dramatically as I could for someone on crutches. I had a sense of romantic drama about me, even though I tried not to. I could feel him watching me as I left, feel his eyes on me. It gave me a weird feeling in my stomach, but I kind of liked it. And so I walked home feeling slightly more satisfied than I'd been in leaving the office.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As I reached my "home", I quickly realized I'd be locked in my room for the night. There was a note for me on the table. It said,

_Alyssa,_

_ I'm going to be working tonight, so we'll have a good breakfast tomorrow._

_ -Mom_

I snorted. She always tried to get me to call her "Mom", almost as much as she tried to call her lifestyle "work". I hobbled over to the refridgerator and opened it half-heartedly. It was empty except for three yogurts, a loaf of bread and some water bottles.

I grabbed a slice from the loaf and walked to my room. I stepped on a jacket that obviously belonged to a man. It was followed by a shirt, which was followed by a belt, which was followed by Christine's door. I don't think there ever was a time when I called her my mom. She was always just Christine. The unmistakable sound of bed springs was heard from within the room. This is what I came home to every night, but it was always a different guy. That was, of course, how prostitution worked.

I entered my bedroom, the boring room with the dirty white walls and grimy white sheets on my bed. Setting my crutches on the floor, I laid down on the lumpy mattress. I hid under the sheets, protecting myself from outside dangers. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to dream up a world where I could finally be happy, but sleep came to me before I could find it.

* * *

The next morning, I walked into the kitchen to see Christine's latest boy toy giving her a wad of cash. I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

"Thanks." she said, clearly trying to keep her seductive power over him.

He smiled back at her and left looking satisfied. I sat at the table across from her.

"So I'm guessing he was the Catch of the Day." I said bitterly.

"Don't be like that. It's because of him that we are going to get donuts downtown for breakfast today."

"Don't like donuts." I replied simply.

"Since when?"

"Since you offered to pay for them with your slut money."

"Alyssa," she started, and I could feel the explanation coming on, "I do what I do so we don't starve!"

"You could make more money working at McDonald's! You could get any job you wanted to! But you'd rather spend your time whoring around."

"You think this is my choice?"

"Yes! Ever since Dad left you, you've been looking for an excuse-"

"He didn't leave me, he left the both of us!"

"No, he'd never leave me without regretting it! He loved me more than anything in the world!"

"And how do you know that?"

"He told me the day before he walked out! When we were playing catch!"

My dad had been the one who had taught me how to play when I was only five. Everyone had thought him weird for teaching his daughter a man's game. Dad had been my best friend in the world. I hadn't seen him in seven years.

"I wish he'd taken me with him." I muttered just loud enough for Christine to hear. With that, I left the house, wondering what the hell I was going to do with my life.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I slept. I ate when food was available. I walked around town. I ran, once I got my cast off that is. I moped, mostly moped. That was the rest of my summer. Then there was a bigger hurdle to jump: the first day of seventh grade.

I was pretty smart, I guess. I got good grades, not that there was anyone in my life who cared, and I kept to myself. This year was no exception. I knew all of the answers, but never voiced them aloud. It was strange, how I had two different sides of myself. There was the school side: quiet, smart and obedient, and the real world side: loud, reckless and lonely. I guess school was the one place where I could act like I'd had a normal childhood.

When the lunch bell rang, my stomach was in knots. This was the time of day when all of the cliques got together, none of which really fit me. I had the sudden feeling that this would be another year of eating lunch in a lonely little corner.

"Hey, you're Alyssa, right?"

I turned to see a kid with long blond hair approaching me. "Yeah, I am. You..." Then it hit me where I knew him from. "You watch a lot of ball games at the field, right? You're Toby Whitewood."

"Yeah!" he said, as if shocked that I knew who he was. I don't see why. His father was a city councilman, after all. "You really can play. Want to sit with me?"

It was new, to have a person actually show interest in me.

"Sure."

That was the start of a beautiful friendship.

* * *

It was a warm March day when Toby came up to me, looking absolutely pissed.

"Well, hello there, you little ray of sunshine!" I laughed mockingly.

"I can't play."

"What?"

My friend looked at me, as if it was totally obvious. "The league officials. They banned me from playing."

Then I realized just what he was saying. They were doing to him exactly what they'd done to me. "What kind of shit are they trying to pull!? I mean, first they ban me for being a girl, then they ban you for not being some kind of a star player!"

"It wasn't just me." he said, still down.

"Anyone else I know?"

Toby shrugged. "Tanner Boyle. Timmy Lupus. A few others."

I looked across the cafeteria at the two he had mentioned. Tanner was loudly cussing out a couple of eighth graders who were easily a foot taller than him. Timmy, on the other hand, was by himself picking his nose. Neither one of them seemed like ideal players too me. But that didn't matter.

"They should at least give you guys a chance. Hell, they should give me a chance too."

"They might." Toby said, new hope in his voice. "My dad's thinking about suing them to get us in. You could get in on it, if you want to."

At that, my heart stopped. I had spent the last nine months thinking my life no longer had a purpose, but now it was being restored. Now I could play again. In fact, I could practically smell the fresh cut grass.

"If I want to? You honestly think I wouldn't want to!? God, I thought you knew me, Toby!" I was smiling like an idiot, and continued smiling like an idiot for the rest of the day. We were getting in. I could feel it.

Sure enough, two weeks later, Toby delivered the news.

"You got your wish. How do you feel about being a Bear?

**A.N.- Well, guys, I hope you like it! I also hope you like my idea of Alyssa and Toby being friends, which explains how she gets back in the league, since Mr. Whitewood is the one who sues them. Stay tuned for more!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Finally, the big day had arrived. I'd even gotten a brand new glove for the new season, stolen some of Christine's money. I was ready to start practice, that was for sure.

"Hey Whitewood!" I yelled at Toby, beyond excited. "We made it!"

"Yeah we did!" he yelled back. I eagerly ran up and took my place next to him on the bleachers.

Then, out of nowhere, our coach walked up. At least I thought he was our coach. He was holding a can of beer, and it seemed as if that was natural for him. He looked old, probably older than he was, and just plain beaten down. By the sound of his voice, he was a smoker too.

"When I say your name, step foward and tell me what position you want to play." he said with practically no interest whatsoever. "Rudi Stein."

A kid with curly hair and glasses that could only be called dorky stepped up. "Um, pitcher. Can I play pitcher?"

He was a pitcher? He sure didn't seem like it, and I was positive that I could throw more heat than him.

"Sure." the man called Buttermaker replied. "Reggie Tower."

Another boy, this one in a red track suit, walked up to our coach. "Well, my father says for me to play infield."

Just as soon as Reggie had finished talking, a particularly stalky kid came up and said, "Mr. Buttermaker. I'm on your team. Did you really play for the Yankees? My father's been a Yankees fan his whole life, and he never heard of no Buttermaker who ever played for the Yankees, let alone pitched a no-hitter!"

Now Buttermaker had had it. Turning on the kid, he said, "Look, I don't know who the hell you are, but sit down and shut up. Now get out there." he said to the others, Rudi and Reggie.

"Can I play second or third base?" Reggie asked uneasily.

"You can play second."

"Thank you."

From what I could tell so far, this guy's coaching style included no strategy at all, under any circumstance.

Then to us, he said, "Look, it's true I was a hell of a ball player when I played, but I never pitched for the Yankees. As a matter of fact-"

He was cut off by a boy I knew to be Alfred Ogelvie. "As a matter of fact, you never made it to the major leagues, but you did play for Pheonix in the minors. In 1951, you won nine games, lost six, had 147 strikeouts, and had a ERA of 2.86."

"Good work, kid." Buttermaker said half-heartedly. Then he continued down the list. "Ahmad Abdul-Raheem."

"Ahmad Abdul-Raheem, yeah." an African-American kid in the back stepped foward.

"What position do you want to play?"

Ahmad eagerly said, "I want to switch hit like my big brothers, and I want to play where Hank Aaron played."

"Oh, right field!" Ogelvie said automatically. "I mean, Aaron played right field."

"Then right field."

"He also played quite a few games at second base, too."

"Then second base too."

Deciding he wouldn't spend anymore of his time on them, Buttermaker said, "Mike Engelberg."

"My dad says I should try out for catcher." the stalky kid from earlier said.

"Engelberg's valuable." Toby piped up, "He can play third and short at the same time."

I cracked a smile at that, but Engelberg said, "Keep it up, Whitewood, if you want to get beat up!"

"Oh, shut up tubs!" Ahmad said, making the catcher get up off of the bleachers.

"Alright, alright, alright, alright." Buttermaker said, trying to get everyone to calm down. "Timmy Lupus."

I smirked at his mispronunciation, and Toby corrected him. "Lupus."

"Lupus." the man said.

Tanner immediately began to hammer our teammate. "God, does that booger-eating spazz make me want to puke."

"Well, Lupus, what do you want to play?"

When Timmy didn't say anything, Toby stepped in again. "He's kinda shy."

"Shy my butt, he's an idiot!"

"Shut up, Tanner! He's just a little shy."

"I was about to say that Timmy and I would do a fine job sharing right field." Ogelvie said, and I didn't think he had much of a point.

"Alright, alright. Let's not talk about it anymore. Everyone just get out there and take any position you want."

I went right on ahead, but Toby stayed behind, and I heard him say something about two boys who didn't speak any English.

I ran up and stood behind Rudi, deciding to let him act as the primary pitcher for taking infield. As Buttermaker approached the plate, he looked back at Engelberg, who was eating chocolate.

"Would you save that for after practice?" he asked, irritated.

"There's energy in chocolate. I need energy!" Engelberg snapped.

Shrugging it off, Buttermaker hit the ball to Reggie, who stood there, with no stance at all. The boy avoided it, letting roll into the outfield to Toby. From the stands, Reggie's dad yelled, "Damn it, Reggie! What do I always tell you? Charge that ball!"

Next he hit the ball to Rudi, who missed it by a mile, but I grounded it swiftly and threw it in with ease.

"You're not half bad, kid." the coach told me.

"Damn right I'm not." I responded cockily.

I got a raised eyebrow from him, but he continued anyway. Next was a pop-up, which three boys went for, and three boys missed. Eventually it was fielded and thrown in to Jose at first, but the torture didn't stop there. It immediately tipped off of the boy's glove and rolled off. By some miracle, it got back in to Engelberg at the plate, and he tossed it back to Buttermaker. After inspecting the ball, he said to our catcher, "Engelberg, there's chocolate all over this ball."

Then the kid just snapped, responding with, "Look, Mr. Buttermaker. Quit bugging me about my food. People are always bugging me about it. My shrink says it's why I'm so fat, so you're not doing me any good, so just quit it!"

"Okay, okay." Buttermaker muttered. Then, turning back to the field, he yelled, "Alright, let's get one! You ready? Let's get one out there!"

He laid down a bunt, which lay in the grass, unfielded. I rolled my eyes in pure exasparation.

"Engelberg, that is a bunt. B-U-N-T. The catcher is supposed to pick up the bunt and throw it to first base."

"Well how was I supposed to know? You made such a big deal of pointing it out to them." Engelberg retorted.

"Diversionary tactic, Engelberg, now pick it up."

"What are you always picking on me for?! What did I ever do to you?"

Then Tanner voiced what we were all thinking. "Engelberg, quit your crummy bellyaching and throw the ball to first base!"

So that's what he did, making a huge deal about it in the process. Throwing his glove down in his hissy fit, Engelberg retrieved the ball and threw it aimlessly, hitting a windshield that just so happened to be Buttermaker's.

Once we were all gathered around said windshield, Engelberg was making excuses once again, saying, "Don't blame me, I didn't even know it was your car. It was a dumb thing parking it so close to the field anyway."

Completely ignoring him, Buttermaker said, holding the baseball up for all to see, "Alright boys-"

"Ahem." I made an obviously fake attempt to clear my throat.

"And girl. Let's get back to the basics. This is a baseball. The object of the game is to keep the ball within the confines of the playing-"

"Wait a minute!" Surprise, surprise! Tanner Boyle was speaking out of turn. "One wild throw and you think we don't know what a ball is? I don't think I like that kind of guy."

He then proceeded to charge our coach, which looked pretty funny considering he was so short. We were all yelling at him to stop being stupid, and finally managed to pry him off.

"If we keep playing at this rate, we'll be the laughing stock of the league." Rudi said in a discouraged manner.

Tanner came back with, "Well what do you expect? All we got on this team is a bunch of Jews, spics, niggers, pansies, a girl and a booger-eating moron."

While I was recovering from the shock of hearing him say those words, Ogelvie said calmly, "Tanner, I think sometimes you need to be reminded that you're one of the few people on this team who is not a Jew, spic, nigger, pansy, girl, or booger-eating moron, so if you don't cool it we may be disposed to beat the crap out of you."

"Oh yeah?" Tanner challenged.

"Yeah." They then tried to go at each other, but Buttermaker kept them apart.

"Cut it out. Now someone is going to pay for this windshield, and I think, Engelberg, it's going to be your father."

"Bullshit." Engelberg shot back.

We got along okay after that first practice. Buttermaker only threatened to

murder Engelberg once, after the catcher had told him that having open liquor in the car was illegal. We had one practice at the batting cages, where I learned that the other Bears were as bad at batting as they were fielding. We complained endlessly about the fact that we didn't have our uniforms. Buttermaker made us clean pools with him. Well, not exactly with him. It was more like we did all the work while he sat around and had Timmy make him drinks. The kid's a hell of a bartender. And, at long last, we got our uniforms. I, being one of the tallest kids on the team, was number eleven. Oh, and I can't forget the infamous practice in which Buttermaker passed out cold in his own drunkeness. We weren't very well prepared, but opening day came anyway.

It was a beautiful spring day, the kind of day just made for playing ball, and I was ready. I took my place with my teammates and half listened to Toby's dad give a speech about "the great game of baseball", but then the festivities were quite rudely interrupted. I saw a familiar Harley Davidson ride right in front of us, and even though the rider was wearing a helmet, the goosebumps on my arms told me that I knew who it was: Kelly. I hadn't seen him much since he'd approached me at the field; he never really bothered showing up to school much. Maybe it was because, like me, nobody cared. I had often found myself doing that, wondering what his life was like, what his story was. He was more than a punk, I could tell. He was a mystery to be uncovered. Kelly's stunt came to an abrupt end when he crashed into the fence in center field, and a furious Cleveland "unmasked" him, and he was taken away by police. Some applauded, some looked at him in fear, like he was a menace. But me, I stared at him, completely captivated, as I had upon our first meeting. And, for a split second, I caught him looking at me too. My heart stopped cold. There was something about his stare; it held pain and experience beyond his years. And I could only hope I would see him again.

Immediately following the debacle, we took our team picture. I stood in the back with the taller members of the team, while the shorter kids kneeled in front. We were definitely disfunctional and different, but that would play to our advantage later on, I could feel it. After pictures, we stood and listened to some guy sing the national anthem, and then it was time to play ball.

As we were being assigned our positions in the dugout, I was shocked to hear, "Rudi, you're on the mound today."

My eyes widened, and I pulled Buttermaker aside, whispering, "Buttermaker, what gives? You've seen both of us pitch, and you know you can't look me in the eye and tell me that Rudi throws better than I do. I can give you any pitch you want to see, and I can do it good. Why Rudi?"

"I figure I might as well give the kid a little pitching time, and it might as well be at the start of the season, when it doesn't matter."

"But Buttermaker-"

"That's enough, Alyssa. You're playing third today, and that's that."

And so the game started, and I trotted out to third. I could tell every eye in the other dugout was on me, the only girl in the league, but I was ready for that. I was ready to show them what I was made of.

The lead off batter was a leftie, so I knew it wasn't coming to me unless he had some sort of opposite field thing going on. Unfortunately for me, he hit a solid one into right center, and what should of been a single turned into a triple. Rudi did get it to me, but it was a terrible throw that had me jumping to reach it, so I missed the tag.

Next at-bat, Joey Turner, the coach's son. On the first pitch he nailed a homer, and acted like it was the winning run of the World Series. Then there was an inside-the-parker, and another, and another. I tried to help where I could, but nobody else seemed to be able to pull their own weight, which was incredibly frustrating. It was infuriating, actually. There were easy, routine ground balls being missed, flies being missed by a mile. The Yankees were hitting batting practice against us, and, quite frankly, it was humiliating. Soon the score was 20 - 0, and we weren't even out of the top of the first. About five minutes later, after talking it over with the other coach, Buttermaker muttered something to the ump, and I didn't need to hear it to know what he said.

"Alright, the game's over. Forfeit by the Bears." The words came as no surprise to me, and I wasn't all that disappointed, either. I was not planning on playing another fifteen minutes of that crap, not with a score of 26 - 0.

When I entered the dugout, I gave Buttermaker a total "I told you so" look, and sat down, deflated, on the bench.

"Guys, it ain't so bad." he tried to assure us. "I was once at a high school game where the score was..." He petered off as he saw our defeated expressions. "Oh, come on, guys, will you? It's only a game."

Just then, Joey and some of his cronies came by and he said, looking smug as ever, "Hey, nice try, Bears. Maybe next time you'll get a chance to bat."

Then Tanner ran at them, beginning to climb up the chain link separating him and Joey, but Buttermaker pulled him off.

"Now sit down, I want to talk to you." he said with authority.

"I ain't listening to you, crud. I'm leaving."

First it was Tanner, then, slowly but surely, the rest of us followed suit, leaving the dugout in shame and bitterness. I walked for a while in total numbness, then set off running, angry at the world. Why did I have to be put on the one team in the league who barely knew how to play the game in the first place?

**A.N.- Hey, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for all of the profanity in this chapter, but I wanted to quote the movie, and, with a movie like BNB, that can come with profanity. PLEASE REVIEW! IT GIVES ME HOPE THAT I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE ENJOYING THIS FIC!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It took me a while to get over the initial humiliation of the loss, but I did it eventually. And once I did, I got hassled about it. All of my schoolmates, the ones who had once ignored me, now wouldn't let me forget what had happened.

"Hey, you're a Bear, right?" they'd jeer at me. "Why don't you go play patty cake with the other bad news Bears?!"

I hated it, to be honest. I had to deck a few kids because of it, getting sent to the principal a total of three times in one day. But, in a way, it was a good thing. It showed the kids who used to underestimate me that I was no pushover. Apparently I wasn't the only person on the team who was being messed with; all of us were. So, we took a vote, and, well...

"Alright, kids. Up, everybody up. Let's go." Buttermaker tried to rally us for our next practice, but we all just stared back at him with dull expressions.

"Alright, alright. I'm an asshole, just say it. Go ahead, yell, get it off your chests."

After a moment of silence, Toby stepped up, uniform in hand. "Look, Buttermaker. We really appreciate these new uniforms, but we won't be needing them anymore. We've been taking a lot of rousing in school about opening day. And they were laughing at us, and picking on us. Anyway, we took a vote, and decided we're going to quit."

"What happened to you, Tanner?" our coach asked, referring to the boy's beat up face.

"Tanner got in a fight cause of it." Engelberg explained.

"With who?"

"The seventh grade."

"What?" the catcher's voice was barely audible in his disinterest.

"The seventh grade." he said again, louder this time.

"Took on the whole seventh grade?" Buttermaker actually seemed impressed. "Do you want to quit, Tanner?"

"God no, I want to play ball." Tanner replied. It wasn't angry, or intended to insult him, it was said genuinely. That's all it was: genuine.

"Look, I know how you guys feel. I haven't been much of a coach, or much of anything lately." I was rather shocked, hearing Buttermaker apologize. "I'm sorry. But this quitting business, it's a tough thing to break once you start. You're a damn good bunch of kids, and you probably deserve a lot better than me. But we're stuck with each other. Jimmy grab a bat, Engelberg, get your gear on."

"What for?" Toby asked.

"We need to practice."

"But we disbanded the team." Engelberg argued. "We took a vote."

Buttermaker turned to him with a fury, throwing Toby's uniform at the catcher. "God damn it! Nobody's vote counts aroud here but mine. Now get your gear on and get your fat ass behind the plate before I kick it up there! And the rest of you pansy-ass quitters, get your asses out there before I have to kick them too!"

We immediately got our gloves and ran out onto the field while Buttermaker yelled to us, "We have a game with the Athletics next Wednesday! And that means only one thing! Bad news for the Athletics!"

The guy really surprised us that day; he actually coached us. Jimmy was at bat first, and the poor kid was dragging his back foot at every swing. Buttermaker casually informed him that he had to keep it planted, even putting some dirt over the foot to strengthen the meaning, and watched him hit the ball to short.

Next we received some fielding tips, with Tanner as the guinea pig. Engelberg hit a grounder to him, which he missed, of course. Buttermaker then explained that he had to block the ball with his body, putting his left knee on the ground. On his second try, Tanner got it, stopping it and throwing it in from his odd, sprawled out position on the ground. Then we ran laps around the entire field, saying dumb chants as we did.

"A busted bat and a long fly ball..." Buttermaker started it off for us.

"Any day now, Dourocher will call!" we responded wearily.

We continued practice on our owns then, with our coach watching us from the bleachers. And, before we knew it, our game was upon us.

* * *

"Alright, once more, with feeling!" Buttermaker was trying to get us to do another stupid chant, and he was failing miserably. "First base, second base-"

"Do we have to do that one?" Jimmy asked. "It's so corny."

"Now, listen to me, we're doing it again. First base, second base, third base, home..."

"Around the bases we shall roam." we grumbled in humiliation. And then it began. Buttermaker had worked with Rudi a bit at our practice, and was somehow confident that he could actually pitch well now. So, it was another game at third for me.

We put up a better fight than the last game, but not by much. Both Rudi and Tanner almost made it to first, and according to Oglivie, we hit seventeen foul balls. But that didn't change the fact that the final score was 18 - 0. I had a feeling that we were going to get tired of hearing, "Two, four, six, eight! Who do we appreciate?! Bears, Bears, yeah!"

The only thing that made us brighten up was hearing Buttermaker say, "Alright, Cokes and hot dogs on me."

After the food was eaten and the other Bears were leaving, he came up to me and said, "Alyssa, can you stay back a while?"

"Why so you can tell me about how much faith you have in Rudi?"

"Look, you're right about Rudi, okay? He can't pitch to save his life. I just... don't know how the people will react to you, you know?"

"Cause I'm a girl." It wasn't a question; I knew it was because I was a girl.

"People can be assholes, kid. But, let's face it, I need you to pitch for me or we're going under. Are you good?"

"You've seen me-"

"I know I've seen you pitch before, but I haven't seen you give it your all. Are you any good?"

"I got my curve breaking two-and-a-half feet." I said, but it wasn't cocky or overconfident. It was full of pride, plain and simple.

"Now, I knew you were good, but don't give me no baloney about a curve breaking two-and-a-half feet."

"For how much?" I challenged.

"Ten bucks."

"Make it twenty." I demanded. I could use that money later on.

"You got a deal." Buttermaker said, giving me a ball.

I assumed my position on the grass, deciding to pitch from the stretch. The coach went fifty feet away, wearing his own glove, and said, "Show me what you got."

So I did. I drew my arm back and lunged forward, letting the ball roll off of my fingers. That, for me, was the best feeling in the world.

"When are we going to see some curve?" Buttermaker taunted.

"Alright the next one's coming right between your eyes!" I smirked. But I delivered. I burst foward with all I had in me, put all of my emotion into that one pitch. It had fantastic movement, and landed perfectly in the glove.

"Looks like I've found my new starter." he said as he handed me a twenty dollar bill.

"You won't regret it, either." I smiled. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

At our next practice, Buttermaker said to the others, "Well boys, looks like Alyssa's your new pitcher."

"You're bringing our third baseman in to pitch?" Tanner squeaked. "I bet even this team could hit homers off of her."

"Grab a bat, punk!" I dared him to even try. So he did. And when he did I gave him a two-seamer that made him swing so fast that he fell flat on his ass. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Oglivie and Buttermaker shaking hands.

Soon our game against the Mets had arrived and, finally, I was starting. As Buttermaker gave us the lineup, I was smearing Vaseline under the bill of my hat, rearing to go. When we got out there, I felt the usual calmness I got on the mound. It was almost like, on that field, I was finding my destiny.

"First up for the Mets, Roy Close, number seven, left field."

I shook off Engelberg's first sign, but nodded at his second. I struck that guy out, and went with the spitter for the next turkey. My spitter was a beauty. Then, before I knew it, the inning was over.

From there on out, the game was pretty evenly matched. I struck them out, they struck us out. We fielded their hits, they fielded ours. It was pretty damn even.

Then it happened. Bottom of the sixth, two outs, and the kid hits a grounder that ends up getting all the way back to the wall, right to Timmy Lupus. He picked it up just fine, but from there it was all downhill. The ball fell out of his hand when he drew his arm back for the first attempt... And the second. Then, finally, on the third try, he threw it in, but it was too late. The damage had already been done. The final was 1 - 0, and we almost won it. That just made it hurt worse.

When we were all back in the dugout, Tanner confronted Timmy, yelling, "Lupus, you dumb spazz, we would've won it if it weren't for you!"

Then Buttermaker broke it up by saying, "Now cut it out! Scoot over." The last part was to Timmy, so he could sit on the bench. "All I know is when we win, it's a team win. When we lose, it's a team loss. Now on Friday we play the White Sox, so what does that mean to you guys?"

"Bad news for the White Sox!" we yelled in unison.

Then, at our next practice, something happened that would change my life forever. Buttermaker was hitting to us, and he just so happened to hit it over the fence, where a boy in a red shirt and biker boots ran over to retrieve it. When he did he threw it over the fence to Engelberg, who was about halfway down the third baseline. The throw not only made it to the glove, but stung Engelberg's hand in the process. Then Cleveland came, busted him for being on the field in the first place, and he rode away in defiance and rebellion.

"Catfish Hunter, that kid's got a great arm." Buttermaker was stunned. "Who is he anyway?"

"Of course he's got a great arm, Buttermaker, he's the best athlete in the area. But you don't understand; that's Kelly Leak." Toby explained.

Just the sound of his name sent shivers down my spine. In an instant, the whole team was gathered to join the conversation.

"You talking about Kelly Leak?" Ahmad asked. "That dude's a bad mother. You're talking about a loan shark. I borrowed a nickel from him last week, and he said if I didn't get him a dime by Friday, he'd break my arm."

"Es un bandito." added Miguel.

"I don't know what he's talking about, but I like him. He's got balls." Tanner said with respect.

"Why screw around, you guys?" I said, seeing my chance to meet him formally, "If the guy can play ball, he can play ball. I mean, let's get him on the team."

Buttermaker considered it for a while, and then said, "Well I think, Alyssa, you just volunteered to ask him."

* * *

We pulled into the arcade just as it was beginning to get dark out. As I prepared to go in, I assessed myself in the glare of the door. My clothes were, well, they were for boys. All of them. It was my way of separating my wardrobe from Christine's skimpy and overly feminine one as much as possible. But the whole boyish look worked for me. My short brown hair, which didn't even reach my shoulders, was tangled and crazy, but, as with my clothes, it worked for me. Pushing the butterflies down, I walked in trying to look as calm and collected as possible. On the way, I passed a grown man and his buddies grumbling about the "punkass kid who had beat him in air hockey." At that, a smile spread across my face. He was here.

There he was, back turned to me, checking out a girl who was playing pinball. Then, all of the things I'd heard about him came back to me. He was fifteen, though he didn't look like it, and he had gotten his Harley through gambling on air hockey games. At one dollar a game, he must have been pretty good, to raise enough to buy a bike.

"Looks like I'm not the only one who can throw. You got a great arm."

He turned to me, giving me a once-over, and responded, "So-so."

I fearlessly picked up the putter and hit the puck into his goal. "We could use a good outfielder on our team."

"Oh, you call what you got a team." he said curtly while getting the puck out.

From there we continued to bat it back and forth, but soon it was in his goal once again. Once he got it back on the table, we continued the game. "What do you got against baseball anyway?"

After I scored against him again, he looked at me, giving me time to read him. It was a gift of mine, being able to tell what people are thinking just by looking in their eyes. Kelly's gaze told me that he wasn't used to being beat so badly, and that I interested him because I could.

"The baseball you play is for faggots and old farts who don't have anything better to do with themselves."

Then the game got intense, both of us giving it our A-game.

"Well you must like those kind of guys. You sure do hang around the field often enough."

"There's nice ass at the field, that's why I hang around it."

That was reason enough to give him my death glare. The thing I hated most was a guy who only thought of girls as "nice ass." Folding my arms, I said, "Oh, so you're one of those sexist bastards."

"I didn't say anything sexist!" he insisted.

"To hell you didn't! You just confirmed my suspicion that you think all a girl is good for is her sex appeal. But you know what? You might be right! Why do we bother sending girls to school and filling them with life ambition? Because I think the world would be so much better if girls could just stick to being either sex slaves or housekeepers!" By the end, all sarcasm had left my voice, and I just sounded bitter.

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk way too much?"

I came back with,"Only when I meet someone who I got to set straight."

That last part hung in the air between us. He looked at me again, and now I saw that nobody had ever told him what he believed was wrong. But I could also see that he liked having someone to butt heads with. And, to tell you the truth, so did I.

"Anyway," I broke the silence, "I hear you like to gamble."

"We go a dollar a game here." he responded.

"I don't want to play for money. If I win, you play baseball for the Bears."

"And if I win?" Of course he'd want to know how he'd benefit.

"Name it."

I could practically see the gears turning in his mind, milling over the endless possibilities. Then a mischievious, confident smile came to his face, and I smiled back. It was a deal.

"So," he said, "you like the Rolling Stones?"

"Well, how'd it go?" Buttermaker asked as soon as I got back.

I slammed the car door shut indignantly. "I lost."

"What? I thought you were supposed to be some kind of-"

"I am good, he's just better at it!" I yelled back, though it went unheard.

"That's the last time ever listen to you."

Just then I heard an engine revving, and I knew what was to come next. Kelly came right up next to me, and said, "Eight o' clock, Friday night." Then he rode off just as quickly as he'd come.

"What's that?" my coach asked protectively.

"Nothing."

"What's eight o' clock Friday night?"

Sighing indignantly, I said, "I lost that game so I got to go to the Rolling Stones concert with the creep."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Thirteen-year-old girls don't go out on dates."

"Of course they do, where you been?"

"Well they don't go out with people like that." Putting his cigar back in his mouth, he continued, "Boy, you take the cake. First you blow the game for us, then you get roped into a date with an ex-con."

Grabbing the cigar and throwing it on the ground, I replied, "You're like a chimney and I'm sick of it! Start the car and let's go!"

But he wasn't done with me yet. "You probably lost on purpose. You probably like the little baboon."

"Blow it out your bunghole!" I yelled, done with his interrogation.

Then, Buttermaker's expression changed, and it became honestly concerned. "What if he tries something, uh..."

I gave a small smile at how even a grown man had let the stereotypes get the better of him, and assured him, "I'll handle it."

Shaking his head, Buttermaker muttered, "Rolling Stones, thirteen years old..."

"I know a thirteen-year-old girl who's already on the pill!"

The man looked at me with urgency then. "Don't you ever say that word again."

"Jesus! Just who in the hell do you think you are?!"

"The God damned manager, that's who!"

"Big wow." I scoffed. As you can imagine, the rest of that ride was spent in silence.

**A.N.- Hey guys! I want to thank you for keeping up with the story this far, and I hope you like my take on the air hockey scene. Since Alyssa is already a good pitcher, Amanda does not join the team in this fic, as you can probably figure out. But, Alyssa will have some of Amanda's lines from the movie and things like that. Now, in the first movie, we never learn Kelly's real age, but in Breaking Training, we learn that he is thirteen. This, of course, means that he was twelve in the first one, but I said he was fifteen because that's how old Jackie Earle Haley (the actor who played him) really was at the time. PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW! PLEASE!**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

It had been a couple of days since I'd lost the bet with Kelly, and the night of our "date" was drawing near. I was distracted all of the time, even during practice, which was rare for me. Such was the case as we were taking infield, something we were getting better at every day. I even made a couple of errors, and Buttermaker took notice, saying, "Something the matter, Crumrine?"

"No, I'm alright." I responded, trying to sound convincing as possible.

After a few more grounders, we hustled into the dugout, where our coach made an announcement to us.

"Now there's something I forgot to tell you guys. It's a league regulation: cups and supporters." At this we all groaned with distaste. Buttermaker continued, "Gotta be worn at all times."

"Que es esto?" Jose asked.

"No se." Miguel replied to his brother.

As the protests continued, the coach put his foot down, saying, "Well you can wear them, or you won't play."

"Can we stop this already? We got another hour of practice." Tanner said, sounding annoyed.

Then Jose came up speaking rapid fire Spanish. I really didn't catch any of it, except the very end, where he very plainly said, "Este duele."

"What's he saying?" Buttermaker asked.

Ogilvie cut in, replying, "I've been brushing up on my Spanish of late, and I think he's saying something about his being a Catholic and it's a sin."

Now, I'm three quarters Mexican, and I knew a little Spanish myself. And I knew for a fact that _gringo_ had no idea what he was talking about. "That's not what he said, you idiot! He said it hurts!"

Ogilvie just looked at me like he was shocked I'd had the nerve to call him an idiot, while Buttermaker gave Jose a cup and said under his breath, "Christ's sake."

He then passed them out to the rest of us, and somewhere in the crowd, someone said, "It's not a gas mask."

"I know what it is!" Tanner cried.

"This is a free country. Let's be democratic and take a vote." Engelberg suggested.

"There will be no vote Engelberg."

"But what about Alyssa?"

The whole time I'd been sitting quietly, but now that my gender difference was being brought up, I piped up. "You ain't strapping one of these things on me."

"Well if she won't wear one, I won't wear one." the catcher decided.

"Yeah!" the others chorused.

"Anyway, it's too small!" yelled Tanner.

Then I saw a kid approaching the dugout, a kid I knew all too well. He made his presence known when he said, "If she doesn't wear one, neither do I."

We all turned to see Kelly Leak standing there nonchalantly, waiting for someone to react. I thought I might as well step up.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to keep the delight out of my voice.

"Some asshole changed my mind." he said, and I smiled. He was here because of me.

Of course the first order of business was seeing just how good at playing he was. The ultimate test? Put me on the mound. He stood there at the plate, awaiting the pitch. So I gave it to him. Unfortunately for me, he caught it as it crossed the plate and gave a smug, "A little harder, huh?"

I stared him down, the spirit of feminism rushing through me. I would get it past him. So I decided to go with my knuckler, knowing my fastball was too predictable. It rolled off my fingers, and right past him. As it landed in Engelberg's mit, I winked at Kelly and said, "Sure thing. Right after I blow one by your sorry ass. Hope I didn't hurt your ego too bad."

For a second it did look as though I'd shocked him, but then he put his tough guy persona back on and said, "Next one's going over."

I shrugged. "At least then it'll be an even score."

I gave it to him straight, four-seam fastball, and he kept his promise. It sailed right over that fence, same as it did in his first official at-bat as a Bear. It got out on the first pitch, and we were all there to greet him as he touched home. Because of him, we had our first win. Our second win came when the White Sox were forced to forfeit.

Then Friday arrived, and I was riding on the back of Kelly's Harley on the way to a Stones concert. My first concert ever, and I was kind of excited that it was with my new teammate. There was still that definite attraction to him that I'd felt when we'd met, like my destiny laid with this scrawny little punk. It barely made any sense to me, but I've always been one to follow my instincts. The concert was incredible, and I sang along to all the songs until I lost my voice, not caring how strangely he looked at me. I looked over at him a couple times, but he seemed more amused than anything. You see, I guess I'm what you call a closet musician. I sing all the time... as long as no one can hear me. A concert with tons of screaming people seemed the ideal place not to be heard. And I enjoyed myself.

* * *

When I came home, I was on cloud nine, and then I saw Christine. She was sitting at the table, all by herself, sobbing profusely. There was a piece of paper in her hand, and I got just close enough to read it, seeing it for what it really was: an eviction notice.

"We're being evicted!?" I yelled. "How long has it been since you paid the bills?"

"A while." she said shakily. "Please don't be mad."

"Don't be mad?! Why can't you just get a job like I've been telling you to for _years_?! Why can't you step up and actually be a mom?!" My voice was hoarser than ever now, and I could feel the heat rising to my face. I was absolutely furious. "When are they going to take it? When do we have to leave?" I demanded to know. After she stared at me blankly for a while, I screeched, "Answer me, you... you whore!" I could tell my words hurt her, but I didn't care, not in the least.

"Tomorrow." she wimpered.

"Oh, that's just great! I'd rather live with anyone but you! I hate you! Do you hear me? I said I hate you!" With that I went in my room and slammed the door, tears of anger flowing down my face. I had to get my emotions out, I just had to. Then I did something I never knew I had the capability of doing: I wrote a song. The next morning, before the sun had even risen, I walked out the door, small suitcase in hand, and left my song on the table. It went something like this:

_I will not make_

_ The same mistakes that you did_

_ I will not let myself_

_ Cause my heart that much misery_

_ I will not break_

_ The way you did, you fell so hard_

_ I learned the hard way_

_ To never let it get that far_

_ Because of you_

_ I never stray too far from the sidewalk_

_ Because of you_

_ I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt_

_ Because of you_

_ I find it hard to trust not only me but everyone around me_

_ Because of you_

_ I am afraid_

_ I lose my way_

_ And it's not too long before you point it out_

_ I cannot cry_

_ Because I know that's weakness in your eyes_

_ I'm forced to fake_

_ A smile, a laugh, every day of my life_

_ My heart can't possibly break_

_ When it wasn't even whole to start with_

_ Because of you_

_ I never stray too far from the sidewalk_

_ Because of you_

_ I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt_

_ Because of you _

_ I find it hard to trust not only me but everyone around me_

_ Because of you_

_ I am afraid_

_ I watched you die, I heard you cry_

_ Every night in your sleep_

_ I was so young, you should have known_

_ Better than to lean on me_

_ You never thought of anyone else_

_ You just saw your pain_

_ And now I'm crying in the middle of the night_

_ For the same damn thing_

_ Because of you_

_ I never stray too far from the sidewalk_

_ Because of you_

_ I learned to play on the safe side so I don't get hurt_

_ Because of you _

_ I try my hardest just to forget everything_

_ Because of you_

_ I don't know how to let anyone else in_

_ Because of you_

_ I'm ashamed of my life because it's empty_

_ Because of you_

_ I am afraid_

_ Because of you_

_ Because of you_

I don't know if Christine took the time to read it, because by the time she probably found it, I was setting up camp by a bus stop with all of the other homeless people.

**A.N.- DISCLAIMER: I do not own "Because of You" by Kelly Clarkson. Please leave a review, because my only reviewer so far is AtomicTelephone. Speaking of which, I want to thank AtomicTelephone for their nonstop support of this fic.**


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